I have mapped the stars
and still prefer the constellation
of your collarbone in morning light.
Your laugh is the softest rebellion
against every carefully drawn plan I ever made.
It rearranges the furniture of my chest
until there is only one chair left—
and it faces you.
I do not love you in the loud, cinematic way
that demands witnesses.
I love you in the small, devastating ways:
the way your hand finds mine in sleep
as if it has been searching for centuries,
the way your name tastes like forgiveness
even when I have done nothing wrong,
the way the world grows quieter
the closer I stand to your heartbeat.
If time is a river,
you are the place where it forgets to flow.
If forever is a myth,
then let me be the first believer
who dies still whispering your name
like a prayer that finally answered itself.
Come closer.
There is no distance left to measure.
Only this:
you,
and the impossible peace
of belonging.
-Aditya Dube
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